


The Best Thing In Our Lives

by yesterdaysnews



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Sibling Incest, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 01:37:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6175102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yesterdaysnews/pseuds/yesterdaysnews
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perhaps it’s not healthy, not wise, but Angelica sailed the Atlantic to put her sister back together, and she doesn’t have any plans of going anywhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Thing In Our Lives

**Author's Note:**

> Someone had to go here.

“Eliza?”

Angelica has climbed the stairs, thankfully leaving Alexander behind—she can barely stand to look at him now. After everything he’s done. After everything he’s become.

She hears no sound of Eliza, so she turns left down the hallway, towards her private chambers. That’s where her sister will be. Perhaps she’s not answering for shame, or for fear. Surely one of those reasons. Angelica could throttle Alexander Hamilton.

She knocks on the door. “Eliza?”

No answer. She enters anyway. Eliza is seated at her desk, a stack of letters in front of her, and more in her hands.

“Eliza,” Angelica says again, rushing to her side.

Eliza turns her head, meets Angelica’s eyes as Angelica crosses the room. And Angelica watches her face fall—watches her try stoically not to break, and watches her fail, and watches her burst into tears and cry. And she can tell that this is the first time that Eliza is crying for Alexander. She crouches by her sister’s side and tucks a stray hair behind her ear.

The tears are coming faster and heavier now, and Angelica takes the letters from Eliza’s hands and puts them on the desk. Throws them on the desk. They’re _his,_ Angelica could recognize his script from miles away, and the thought of it makes her sick. She’s been reveling in affections from a safe distance in London, coyly flirting with Hamilton in letters even as he betrayed her sister.

She trusted him. Angelica trusted him. Trusted him with Eliza’s heart.

She should have known better.

Eliza is trying to mask her tears, shaking with the effort of suppressing sobs. Angelica bites her lip. It’s so unlike her sister to hide her emotions, at least from _her_. She’s at a loss for words, for action. She looks hopelessly around the room, and her eye catches on the looking glass. They make quite a pair—Eliza barely upright in her chair, face hidden by her hands and hair, Angelica steely-eyed and tense with rage. Angry. She looks angry. Of course Eliza is afraid to cry.

“Eliza,” she says, again, leaning back against the desk to face her sister, unsure of how to continue the sentence. “I came as soon as I heard.”

Her sister looks up at her, meets her eyes finally, takes a deep breath. “Word’s spread across the ocean?” she asks, a failed attempt at a smile on her lips.

Angelica reaches for her hand, but she draws it back. “I’m here for as long as you want me,” she says, dodging the question.

Eliza draws in a ragged breath and adjusts herself in her seat, sitting up a little straighter. “That’s a long way to travel.”

“I’d travel longer ways,” Angelica responds without hesitation, looking directly in her sister’s eyes.

There’s a moment where Eliza seems to process that, and then she crumbles. She’s crying again, gasping for breath, dropping posture in her chair. Angelica reaches for her. She’s put herself at an awkward angle around the chair, but she wraps her arms around her sister best she can, and holds her through the tears. Eliza clings onto her tightly, and Angelica times her breathing to her sister’s as they embrace.

They stay that way several minutes, until Eliza’s sobs have slowed into just tears and her breathing is steady again. Angelica lets go then, crosses the room to the washbowl, wets a cloth and returns with it.

She settles herself against the desk again, across from Eliza, and puts the cloth to her sister’s face, washing away the tear tracks.

Eliza looks up at her, more vulnerable and small than Angelica has ever seen her. She thinks it again; she is going to kill Alexander Hamilton.

“Am I the last to know?” Eliza asks blankly.

Angelica looks at her quizzically.

“Is the whole of the nation laughing at my…trusting nature?” she presses. “Did you all know he would…?” She takes a deep breath.

Angelica shakes her head. “I never thought he…” she trails off, remembers the look in Alexander’s eye the night she’d met him. Remembers reading his first letter to Eliza. “Perhaps I should have,” she says, pulling the cloth back from Eliza’s face.

“Love is blind,” Eliza intones quietly.

Angelica smiles sadly. “You’ve married an Icarus,” she says. “We could have known he’d try to fly.”

Eliza looks down at her hands and nods.

Angelica reaches for her chin and pulls her face back up. “You are not responsible,” she says slowly and clearly, so Eliza can hear it.

Eliza flushes pink and shakes her head.

“You’re not,” Angelica insists. Because she isn’t. If anyone is responsible for Eliza’s broken heart, it’s _her_. She remembers so clearly, meeting Hamilton, introducing him to Eliza. She should have known, should have seen. She _did_. And she gave them to each other.

Eliza is strong. Angelica knows this. Eliza will be fine. But she aches seeing her sister this way. She thought this was going to make Eliza happy. She thought she was protecting her sister, not sending her into battle.

She’s still holding Eliza’s chin in her hand, still looking into her wide eyes, and she’s full of guilt and pain and most of all, desire to make her sister _happy._ So she leans in and kisses her.

It’s warm and familiar. Eliza’s lips taste like spice and salt and when she parts them, Angelica feels something click into place. She deepens the kiss, leaning in and bringing her hands up to Eliza’s face. Eliza whimpers a little into the kiss, and Angelica tangles a hand in her hair.

It’s strange how simple it is, really. Eliza’s hands come up to her waist, pull her onto her lap, and Angelica is lost in the moment, the rest of the day, of the week, of the entire affair behind them. She is here, now, with Eliza, and it’s simple.

Eliza’s arms wrap more tightly around Angelica’s waist, pulling her closer. There’s something desperate in her kisses, and Angelica can’t shake the feeling that Eliza is near breaking again, is clinging to Angelica to stay afloat. And perhaps that’s not healthy, not wise, but Angelica sailed the Atlantic to put her sister back together, and she doesn’t have any plans of going anywhere.

But Eliza’s insistent lips and tongue make no indication of needing a gentle touch—her grip on Angelica’s ribcage grows stronger every passing moment, stronger than Angelica would have expected from her delicate hands.

The chair creaks beneath them as Angelica shifts, and she pulls away smiling. Eliza looks warily up at her, and she’s struck by the emotional stillness between them. There is no shift, no tension stretched to breaking point. Eliza smiles softly, and Angelica smiles back and it’s a quiet, clean peace. A respite.

Angelica climbs off of the chair and Eliza stands as well. It’s with a gentle touch and a soft smile that Eliza pulls her towards the bed. Angelica follows. Eliza seems entirely resolved—there is something of a steely look in her eye as she begins undressing. Angelica does not have that same resolve, is not sure of the wisdom of this, but if it’s a measure of control that Eliza is seeking over her own life, Angelica will let her have that. It’s the least she deserves. So Angelica undresses as well.

Eliza is there helping her before she’s finished, down to her slip, her hands gentle as she pulls at Angelica’s clothing. When they are both standing there in their slips, Eliza pulls Angelica in by the waist and kisses her breathless. There is an edge to her desperation that Angelica fears she can’t tend to, but she goes along, entranced by Eliza’s hands sliding up her ribcage to cup her breasts.

And then Eliza’s turned her around, backed her up to the bed, and is pushing her down onto it with some force and climbing up on top of her. She’s kissing Angelica with urgency, and Angelica reaches up to grasp her hips, to ground her. Eliza is a wave crashing into her, limbs tangling, hands groping, lips hot and wet on Angelica’s neck. She feels urgent, frantic, but something isn’t right.

Angelica draws her hands back up to clasp Eliza’s wrists. They’re shaking—Eliza seems to be vibrating at some high frequency, buzzing and buzzing with no way down. So Angelica threads their fingers tighter, looks up into Eliza’s eyes for assurance, and flips them in one fluid motion.

Eliza looks up at Angelica, her breathing slowing and eyes flashing. She feels warm and solid beneath Angelica—far more stable, far more _Eliza._ And Angelica kisses her again, slow and deep and heavy, and Eliza arches up against her, and any frantic energy there was just moments ago has been replaced by a deeper sort of want.

Angelica kisses her way down Eliza’s throat and slips her hands up underneath her slip. Her skin is smooth and cool and she shudders beneath Angelica’s touch.

Angelica ghosts a hand over Eliza’s breast and Eliza whimpers in response.

“Angelica,” she gasps.

Angelica smiles into the hollow of Eliza’s throat and brings her other hand up to mirror the first—light, exploring touches that leave Eliza breathless, canting her hips against Angelica’s thigh. She tugs at Eliza’s slip and dips her head to meet her hands, taking one of Eliza’s nipples into her mouth and teasing it.

Eliza moans and Angelica drinks it in, adjusts her motions based on the reactions they elicit. Eliza is humming with tension again, and this time it’s necessary, this time it’s right, this time Angelica brought her there, and she knows exactly how to bring her back down.

She pulls away, moves back up to kiss Eliza again. And Eliza whimpers weakly into her mouth, arches upward, seeking some contact. Angelica trails her hand down Eliza’s torso, zigzagging along her belly until Eliza is all but vibrating against her, then finally slipping between her legs.

Eliza gasps on first contact, and Angelica drags her finger slowly back and forth through the wetness she’s greeted with, teasing along her folds until Eliza moans, and finally dipping inside her. The reaction is instant—Eliza is whining and bearing down on her finger, and Angelica knows without question to curl it, to match Eliza’s motion, and knows to add another when Eliza’s gasps lower in pitch.

Everything is Eliza, her choked breaths and her curling toes and the involuntary jerk of her hips. The way her muscles clench around Angelica’s fingers. Angelica can feel her building up like a thunderstorm, heavy in the air. And just the anticipation of the crash is a thrill, is a rush, is enough to get Angelica wanting more, needing more, needing to _taste_ her.

She’s gentle at first, but Eliza tastes sweet and heady and lurches at the slightest touch of Angelica’s tongue, whimpers, and Angelica can’t be gentle anymore. One taste isn’t enough—a whole lifetime couldn’t be enough. She surrenders to her instincts, lets her whole world become Eliza, gasping and arching and clenching her thighs. And Angelica can feel how close she is, feel the thunder about to clap, and curls her fingers and flicks her tongue and _there,_ Eliza is crying out and Angelica uses her free hand to steady her hips as she carries her through it, the air settling to stillness around them.

Angelica crawls back up Eliza’s body and kisses her. Eliza is lazy and liquid, melting into the kiss and molding her body to the curves of Angelica’s when Angelica curls into her side, idly tracing patterns on the bare skin of Eliza’s stomach. The storm has passed. Eliza is quiet, serene, a half-smile on her face as she wraps her arms around Angelica. And Angelica can feel Eliza’s steady heartbeat and can feel that her hands are no longer shaking. They’re holding each other, keeping each other grounded, stable. Just like they’ve always done.

They lie there together several minutes. Eliza is looking up at the ceiling, and Angelica watches as her smile fades, as the afterglow dies. Her grip on Angelica doesn’t loosen, so Angelica kisses her shoulder, hoping to keep her at peace just a little while longer. Perhaps all she can provide Eliza with is a break from reality, and if so, she’d like to keep the break going. Keep the daydream alive. But Eliza is coming down from cloud nine—Angelica feels it in the way her body is tensing back up, the way her pulse quickens ever so slightly. She’s arming herself for more battle.

And Angelica could cry for her sister, but it will do no good to anyone, so she bites her lip and rests her head on Eliza’s shoulder. She gives her hand a reassuring squeeze. Because all she can do now is be here. Stay here. For as long as Eliza wants or needs her.

“What do I do with the letters?” Eliza asks quietly. “The letters he wrote me…that I wrote him.”

Angelica looks up, surprised. She wasn’t expecting Eliza to have made sense of her thoughts so quickly—which was silly, now she thinks of it. Eliza has always had a firmer grasp on her thoughts than most.

“What do you want to do with them?” she asks softly, watching Eliza carefully. This isn’t a moment for Angelica. This has to be Eliza’s choice. It’s her right.

“I want…I want them gone,” Eliza says, something settling behind her eyes. “I don’t want to be a footnote to his history. I don’t belong to him. I won’t belong to him.”

“So you won’t,” Angelica says, brushing Eliza’s hair from her face and smoothing it down onto the pillow.

“I’m going to burn them,” Eliza says, her jaw set and eyes dark.

Angelica nods and sits up. “Then we’ll burn them.”

Eliza shakes her head and follows Angelica to sitting. “No,” she says. She takes Angelica’s hand in hers. “I have to do it myself.”

Angelica looks at her, meets her eyes. There’s a resolve there that she doesn’t know if she’s ever seen before. Eliza has been through more than Angelica could imagine, she realizes. She’s rushed home to her sister’s side, but she has no idea the depth of Eliza’s pain. She can’t heal her sister’s wounds by sheer force of will, as she longs to. Eliza is strong. Eliza will have to heal herself. And Angelica can only provide comfort while she does. She leans in and kisses her softly, once, then draws back and nods.

“Of course,” she says. “I’m here for anything you may need.”

Eliza smiles at her, then stands and begins dressing. Angelica watches as she clothes herself, gathers the bundle of letters from the desk, and carries her lantern out of the room. The sun has gone down. Eliza is walking in the dark. And Angelica can’t guide her now—can only wait for her to return.

She’ll wait as long as she needs.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Congratulations:
> 
> _Eliza is the best thing in our lives,_   
>  _So never lose sight of the fact that you have been blessed with the best wife._
> 
> I'm sorry.


End file.
